Self Portrait
by Jade's Trick
Summary: One day, I realized that my real family was 1000 miles away.
1. Spacemonkey

**Title:** Self Portrait

**Author:** Meg

**Rating:** T-ish

**Timeline:** Season 9 to now

**Disclaimer:** Don't own a thing. Don't claim a thing. Don't sue.

**Author's Note:** This thought came to me whilst playing with my new PEBL phone last night, and before I knew it, two chapters wrote themselves. Have fun and please review!

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I stared at the new budget for five straight minutes before I realized that I was trying to stare through the paper. Lifting my head, I let my eyes readjust to color instead of shades by focusing my eyes on the little American flag sitting on my desk. That too became blurred.

I leaned back in my chair and rubbed my tired eyes with hands that felt stiff and sore from typing and giving my John Hancock all day. Only when the backs of my eyes started going nova did I finally pull my fingers away from my face. Leaning my head on my hand, I tried to focus once more on the budget. It needed to be re-examined before its presentation to the Attorney General tomorrow morning at 0700. I glanced at my watch; it was 2330 hours, and I was still 46 pages from being finished. Coffee. I needed coffee. And fast. I was going to stab my eyes out with my pen if I didn't have coffee.

"Laney!"

I bellowed my secretary's name before remembering that she had left over three hours ago. Date. Dammit.

Making coffee was not my thing. Beer was my thing. Ask me to recommend you a beer for a barbeque, I'd tell you straight up Budweiser. A quick drink at a bar, Guinness. A Mexican dinner, Corona, no lime. I always hated the lime. Beer should not be futzed with.

I pulled the filter out of the coffee machine that sat on Laney's credenza. Wrinkling my nose, I threw out the soggy grounds. Laney was the best secretary in the world—well, next to Walter—but she never _could_ remember to empty out the filter. At least her coffee was decent.

Opening the door to the cabinet below, I stared in horror. Tin cans, plastic jugs, tiny plastic jugs—all full of coffee. French Roast, Hazelnut, Café Verona, Ground Dark, Ground Medium, Ground Light, Vanilla. _Oh, for cryin' out loud!_ Why in the universe did the woman need so many different types of coffee?

Slamming the door shut, I turned immediately to Laney's desk. She always left her emergency cell number on a post-it in the uppermost left drawer. Yanking it open a little too hard, the drawer went flying. Pens, pencils, white-out, papers, folders…it all landed on my feet. _Deep breaths. Chill. In and out. In and out. ARGH!_

I plopped down on the not quite vacuumed carpet, not caring if my dress pants got lint on them. As I started shoving the items back into the drawer, I noticed a little book. Its size was no bigger than a pack of cigarettes. The little tabs on its side held the letters of the alphabet. Curious (and probably breaking the law—I wasn't so sure), I started thumbing through it. Then it hit me.

Flipping the pages, I found the name. Glancing again at my watch, I checked to make sure I wouldn't be a pain in the ass. It felt really late to me, but it was only around 2130 there. I grabbed the phone and dialled the number, checking the address book to make sure that my memory was still correct.

Three rings later, a sleepy voice answered.

"Hello?"

"Hey. I need your help with something."

Silence.

A grunt.

A sigh.

"You really can't live without me, can you?"

I rolled my eyes, but grinned. "You know I can't." Another sigh blew into my ear. "Cut it out! Just help!"

"Okay, okay. What do you have to do?"

"I have a budget that has to be reviewed by 0630, and I still have 40 or so pages to go."

"French roast."

"Sweet."

"Good night, Jack."

"Night, Spacemonkey."


	2. Pantloser

_Well, **that** was a complete waste of my night._

Yeah, she was cute. About 5'7" of cuteness. Long blonde hair. Could sing karaoke like it was going out of style. _Which it is._ I'd forgotten how much I _loathed_ karaoke.

Unfortunately, she could also drink Jack Daniels like it was going out of style too. Grumbling, I turned the key in the door, slammed it behind me, and ripped of the now vomit covered button up. Completely nixing the washer, I just threw it in the trash. I never wanted to remember tonight.

I opened the fridge to see if there was anything interesting left to donate as a science project. Sadly, there was only_ one beer left_. Wondering how the hell I'd let that happen, I pulled the cap off, and planted myself on the couch.

What the hell was it with women and booze? Gina had seemed completely normal! She'd actually reminded me a bit of Carter. The review of the new budget this morning had gone extremely well. I didn't have to maim the new moron who said that Stargate Command was already spending too much money. He'd gotten an earful too. And not from me. That was what made me ask Gina if she wanted to try dinner. She'd chewed the guy out until I was actually feeling sorry for him. She'd praised Hammond and Landry like they were the stars in the sky. She'd used SG-1 as references for why the SGC was so important to America. She'd even referenced good ole Dannyboy about the importance of a new clean room for the artifacts.

And then she'd thrown up all over my favorite red button up.

Everything was casual. Dinner at Friday's. Cursing at the drivers on DuPont Circle. Then she'd suggested karaoke. I hadn't been in years, so I figured it was time to sit and listen to people embarrass the hell out of themselves.

Yeah, I _so_ lost track of her. Since she'd suggested it, and since this was our first date (yeah, I'd wished there would be more), she suggested the place. How the hell was I supposed to know that all her buddies would be there too?

So after watching the chick down four shots of JD, she flopped on my lap, stuck her tongue down my throat, and left for the bathroom. Fifteen minutes later, I followed her path, only to find her making out with one of her pals. It was so obvious that she wasn't even aware of who she was kissing. I grabbed her away from…Ted? Tim? Tad? Whatever. I called a cab from my cell, she plopped in the back seat with her legs still hanging out the side, and promptly demonstrated the range at which she could puke.

Ugh. I needed a shower.

After standing under the needles for a while, I threw on some PJs and grabbed my phone to set my alarm. What…the…hell?

_Four missed calls. _View. Unknown number.

_Three new voicemails._ I held down number one.

"You have three new voicemails," the weird woman quipped at me. "Press one." Yes, ma'am.

"First new message."

"Jack? Jaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack? Did you know that I left my purse at the bar? Could you go get it for me? Maybe bring it over? Maybe stay over—"

Seven. Deleted.

"Second new message." I know already!

"Hi, Sir. It's Mitchell. I know it's a bit late there in D.C. I just wanted to let you know that General Landry gave us some down time that'll start in about a week, and well…um…" I pressed my ear harder to the phone. I heard muffled voices. "Fishing? Why? Vala, fishing is an outdoor sport that, oh never mind. Sam, explain it, will ya? No, Jackson! We are not going to the Museum of Modern Art! Teal'c, it's a place that displays all kinds of…Hey! I'm on the phone here!"

I was grinning in spite of myself.

"Ahem. Sorry, Sir. Anyway, they're losing it over here—ow—and I was thinking that it would be a good idea if you got some downtime as well. Just checking. It'll be in a week. Call us back."

I sat there thinking about the next great excuse to give Hammond for leaving D.C. when the scary woman spoke in my ear.

"To delete, press seven. To save, press nine…" Nine.

"Next new message."

"Did you know that I can actually walk in a straight line after slugging all that JD and—"

Seven!

"You have no more new messages. To listen to your messages, press one. To—"

One.

"Hi, Sir. It's Mitchell. I know it's a bit late there…"

I sat there listening to the muffled arguments. I could imagine the five of them standing guard in the briefing room while Mitchell sneaked into Landry's office to use the cool red phone. I loved that phone. I missed that phone. Vala would've been sitting in Landry's chair, feet propped up, while Daniel was leaning against the desk trying his best to ignore Vala's incessant pokes with her boot. Teal'c would be standing guard on the other side of the star map keeping a look out for Landry. And Carter would…actually, where would Carter have been?

I tried to keep the childlike image of Carter trying to grab the phone away from Mitchell so we could talk. Chances are, she'd probably been leaning against the doorframe, with that slight smirk of hers, amused at the entire situation.

All of a sudden, I was hearing the theme to The Simpsons. Oh, phone. Unknown number. I pressed the green phone.

"O'Neill."

"Well hi!"

Total mistake.

After fifteen minutes of telling Gina that we were not going to go out again, I was not going to come over anyway, and no, skydiving is not safe at night, I finally hung up the phone. Totally annoyed, and slightly disturbed at the way poor Gina would feel when we saw each other in the morning, I brought the phone back toward my face.

I flopped down on my bed, pulled up the Phonebook menu, and pressed send. It started ringing.

"Yello."

"Hey there, how's the SGC?"

He laughed. "A bit quiet right now. Most everyone's at home, except Sam, of course."

"Tell her that I have given you the order to give her the order to get her ass home and get to bed."

"Like she'd really listen, Sir. You get the message about the downtime?"

"Begging and pleading, and possibly the kissing of Hammond's shoes commences at 0900."

"Good for you, Sir. We miss you down here."

"Mitchell, I've got a question."

"Shoot, Sir."

"Why do women like karaoke?"


	3. Kiss My Mikta

A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews. This is my first attempt at a long fic, and all of your desires for more made me (as my best friend would jokingly say) all squishy in my pants. :P

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I pounded on the front door. It opened rather impatiently after a few seconds.

"Jack! What the hell happened to you?"

"Long story, Sir."

"Let's get you some ice."

I followed George into his spacious home. It was almost too spacious for a man who lived alone. His home added personality though since the man was, in my opinion, the world's greatest grandfather. Tessa and Kayla came to visit their grandfather whenever they could. George's daughter, Jean had started divorce proceedings aroud the time I left the SGC and the teenage girls craved their grandfather. Even though the last time that they'd visited, the insanity of Tessa's new bellybutton ring had caused more than enough arguments between George and Jean, the girls had a remarkable way of showing that they loved and admired their grandfather more than I thought was possible for teenage girls today.

Nevertheless, George had managed to remain a dominant icon in the lives of Tessa and Kayla. I stopped to look at a picture of the girls as I remembered them. Young and playful, and swinging on a swingset that George and I had put together one weekend. They were such sweet girls. I chased after George into the kitchen just as he filled a Ziploc bag with ice. He threw it at me.

"Drink?"

I pressed the ice to my ever getting fatter—not to mention slightly bloody—lip. "Absolutely, Sir."

He pulled two beers out of the fridge (Rolling Rock, perfect for cooling down and lowering blood pressure) and we moved to the living room. I sunk into the maroon couch and took the beer he had so graciously capped and took a long swallow. He sat on the recliner, and stared.

"You gonna tell me what happened, O'Neill? Agent Barrett finally lose his patience with you?"

I grinned, then grimaced. "Jealous he got to me first, George?"

George chuckled. "A bit."

Despite my date with Gina last night, and the promising phone call from Mitchell, and the ridiculously busy day I had today, I had yet to beg for a week of leave from Hammond. 1400 hours had proved to be a rather productive argument between Agent Malcolm Barrett and myself. The NID was still investigating self-regulating areas of the Trust. Their autonomous nature was proving to be more and more difficult. Right when we managed to break one branch up and throw the bastards in jail, another one popped up. The meeting had been about the latest investigation into the location of one of their safe houses. Barrett had recommended asking a couple of members of SG-1 to help overrun the new location, to which I had asked which member he wanted to ask for help, to which he had (of course) suggested Carter, to which I told him she was needed at the SGC, to which he'd asked why… Yeah, _not_ a good meeting. Hammond knew we never got along.

Adding to that, Gina had come into my office around 1100 and apologized for the way she'd acted the night before. I tried to be as gentile as possible, but of course, I always failed when I tried that characteristic. She'd exaggerated, said I was judging her for drinking too much. Was I _really?_ I rolled my eyes at the thought.

So I was not in a good mood when I finally left the Pentagon around 1600. Laney figured out after my meeting with Barrett that I needed to go home early and she'd rescheduled any appointments I had for the rest of the day. She'd come into my office with my briefcase already packed to go home, and promptly told me to get my ass out of the building or she'd call Hammond and demand that I take the rest of the day off. God bless her.

I'd gone home, changed clothes, and immediately hit a bar to meet up with a couple of buddies. Bizarre to think that Hammond and the Attorney General could be good at pool, but I never could beat them. Three hours, two beers (yes, I always regulated myself), five pool games, and negative $100 bucks later (Hammond and Baker had pocketed $60 of it), I said my goodnights and drove home. Go figure that I would get mugged on the short walk from my car to my house. That was the problem with living in the city rather than commuting. The homes were more like town houses, and you still had to park on the street, unless you made more than I did, and were lucky enough to have a car port or underground garage. Somehow, the bastards had hopped out of nowhere. I'd managed to give them a bit of my military training (and keep my wallet), but not before they gave me a fat lip and a bruised thigh. So here I was, sitting on Hammond's couch, with a fat (and now numb) lip, acting like a child who's run home the first time something bad happened to him.

"Yeah, I got mugged, Sir."

His lip twitched, and I could see he was fighting a grin. I scowled, which only made him smile completely. I rolled my eyes and he laughed. "Getting a bit old, huh, Jack?"

"With all due respect, George, bite me."

He only laughed harder. I scowled at him again, and he sobered up a bit. I made myself believe that the sobering was for my lip's sake. "Sometimes, I miss Colorado Springs more than you'd realize. Washington is closer to the job description, but at least you could walk from your car to your door without the fear of being killed. Good thing you weren't in uniform."

I nodded. "It might've made the brats think twice though."

"That's possible," he agreed. "But it could've been better or far worse, Jack."

I pulled the now oxymoronic sweaty Ziploc bag from my lip. "I'm not ready to get as old as you yet, George."

He smiled. "I know it's been tough on you, Jack. But you didn't have to take the desk job."

"I was taking it anyway. I started to get old as soon as you gave me your office at the SGC. And I want that chair back, by the way."

"Good luck."

We were quiet for a few minutes. I was taking a trip down nostalgia lane, and by the look on his face, so was he. Would I end up like George? He hadn't seen action (not counting "threading the needle" with Teal'c) in over twenty years. At yet, he had nothing but desk jobs. Sure, there was his command of the _Prometheus_, but that hadn't lasted very long. And here he was. His face read like he was surfing through a photo album in his brain. He _missed_ firing a gun at the enemy. He _missed_ crawling on his stomach through the forests of Vietnam. He may have actually been jealous of SG-1 when we'd gone through the Gate. Would I end up like George? I was already missing the action of being in the military. Would I still miss it in twenty years?

The phone rang from somewhere in the kitchen. Hammond sighed at me, and stood. Setting his beer on the table, he looked me in the eyes.

"You will, Jack."

I watched him as he left the room. He answered the phone, and I listened in for a moment.

"Tessa! You okay, sweetie?" He paused. I could hear her crying on the phone from twenty feet away. "Why? What's wrong?" She replied, sobbing the whole time. "You want me to get an order from the President to have him shot?"

I smiled as I heard her laughter through the sobs. George caught my eye and held up a finger, indicating that he would need a bit. I nodded, and stood, crossing toward the window. Gently, I touched my lip. It wasn't bleeding anymore, but it was throbbing in pain as the numbness from the ice was fading. My thigh was killing me. I looked at the view of the Mall from George's window. Not matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get used to living in a city like Washington. I was used to the mountains, and the snowcaps that reached for the sky.

I missed Colorado. I don't think I would ever get over that. I pulled my cell phone from my pocket and dialled. They answered after two rings. Recognizing my voice, they connected me. I stood there as I listened to more ringing. Finally, I was connected to the person I wanted.

"Greetings."

"Hey T."

"O'Neill. It is good to speak to you."

"It's good to hear your voice too."

"Have you received permission from General Hammond to visit next week? Colonel Mitchell and Daniel Jackson have been in conflicts over where we should travel."

I smiled. "Where do they want to go?"

"I believe Colonel Mitchell wishes to convince us to go to Alabama to hunt wild animals, while Daniel Jackson wishes to attend a museum that has recently opened in the state of California."

I grinned. "I'll save you all and convince Hammond when he's through talking to Tessa."

I heard him smile through the phone. "Indeed, I believe you will. How have you been, O'Neill?"

I sighed. "I've had a hell of a day, T." I went into the meeting with Barrett, left out Gina for obvious reasons, and mentioned that I was standing on a bruised leg.

"O'Neill, if we manage to take a vacation, I should teach you the Jaffa battle tactic of _Rimda mal_. Before Jaffa women began to fight the Goa'uld, the warriors taught them this tactic so they could defend themselves against enemy warriors."

Before I point out that I was perfectly capable of defending myself and therefore sounding like the first meeting between Carter and I, he immediately added, "Over time, the men of the Jaffa race came to realize that the tactic was well reputed, and thus we began to use it in battle as well. You are a formidable warrior, O'Neill, and it would be my honor to teach you this Jaffa battle method."

I smiled. Good ol' T. He _would_ notice how another soldier would take the remark. And he _would _notice that I missed the action of fighting.

"Yeah, T. I'd like that. So, Mitchell hunts, huh?"

"I believe so, O'Neill."

"Does he like to fish?"

"As Colonel Carter would say, 'Do not even try,' O'Neill."


	4. Jam Packed

A/N: I'm gushing! I love you guys! As a note, this chapter was a bit difficult to come up with, but I went with the benefit of the doubt. There's a spoiler for _Memento Mori_ though. You have been warned. :D

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"Laney! Stop! Coffee!"

"And then at 1130 hours, you have a meeting with General Hammond—"

"Oh for cryin' out loud, Laney, we're just having _lunch_!"

She glared at me. "At 1300, Major General Wood and Doctor Wilson are coming to discuss the construction of the F-306—"

I furrowed my brow. "What happened to 304 and 305?"

Another glare. "Guess you'll find out at 1300, huh, Sir?" She continued. "Immediately after that, Miss Davidson will be coming to get your signature for the new budget—" I groaned. "—get over it, Sir. You have a one minute with her—you're welcome—and then you will be having a conference call with General Vaselov about building a new ship in conjunction with the U.S."

"Does Gina know she only has one minute?"

"She will, Sir." I grinned. "After that, at 1530, you leave to meet with the President at the White House. You car will be at the Kennedy exit—"

"There's a Kennedy exit? I didn't know there was a Kennedy exit."

She looked at me pointedly. "No, you _didn't_ know there was a Kennedy exit."

I looked back at her. Then realization struck. "Oy."

"After you return from the White House, you have a 1700 meeting with Colonel Mark, Dr. Wilson will be phoning at 1730 to discuss the injuries you suffered last night and their long term affects on your knees," I growled here. "And at 1800, I will have a meeting with you about a pay raise."

"A pay raise! Laney, Hammond specifically hired you to work for me under the context that you would make more than I do, hon."

She smirked. "I think I'm entitled to more than that, don't you?"

"Why does everyone feel the need to get paid more than God if they have to put up with me?"

"1800 hours, Sir. We'll discuss your shortcomings then."

The phone on my desk shrilled. I grabbed it as quickly as possible, much to Laney's annoyance.

"O'Neill."

"General O'Neill? Oh thank God."

"And this would be…"

"This would be Vala Mal Doran. I hope I'm not disturbing you. I have a couple of questions about the Air Force."

So, at this point in my day, I hadn't had my required three cups of coffee, my bottom lip had swollen to the size of a beer bottle, my morning and afternoon were jam packed, Laney was sitting there glaring at me for allowing anything to interrupt our schedule briefing, and if that wasn't bad enough, an alien woman that SG-1 had managed to pick up was calling me on my _private office number _to ask me questions that she could easily bug Mitchell with. I was annoyed enough to end a sentence with a preposition.

But far be it for me to refuse a woman in need. And no, Laney didn't count.

"Just a second, Vala."

I looked at Laney and raised my eyebrows. She looked back with a face that clearly said _Ummmm, the hold button's right there_. I narrowed my eyes and shooed her away with my hand, to which she rolled her eyes and stomped out of my office, shooting a "You are _so_ not getting any more coffee outta me, Sir" over her shoulder.

I sighed. "Alright, Vala, whaddya need?"

"Well, as you might be aware, General Landry recently allowed me to join SG-1 officially, and because of that, I felt it necessary to learn and understand everything I could about the United States' military, so I've been going through the handbook."

_Still_ not understanding why she was calling me, I asked, "Why don't you just get the rest of team to help you learn stuff?"

"Well, the truth"—_yeah, right_, I thought—"is that I don't really want to bother them with ignorance on my part and I want to be able to show them that I deserve this spot on SG-1."

I was quiet for a minute. Daniel called all the time, but he called at least one a week to tell me the latest version of the Vala craziness that permeated the SGC. I knew somewhere that he cared for her. Maybe not (or _maybe_) romantically, but in the same way he cared for anyone: enough to give them a chance. I'd only just received the mission report from her kidnapping yesterday, and, of course, it was lost somewhere in the piles of papers on my desk. But I could tell that Daniel really felt she could be trusted and counted on, and hey, I had no right to judge. Well, I felt like I did have a right, but wasn't Teal'c in the same position at one point?

"Okay, Vala. Let's try this: you just got the most coveted position available in Stargate Command, and yet you still feel like you need to prove yourself?"

She was quiet for a minute. "I just feel that I should be more knowledgeable of anything that Colonel Mitchell or Colonel Carter might say one day. I'm still the new girl here."

"Mitchell went through the same thing, V."

"But he already knew all this stuff! Daniel's been working with the military since the beginning, Teal'c's a much faster learner than anyone I've ever known, and Colonel Carter knows just as much as Colonel Mitchell!" She gave an exasperated sigh.

I smiled in spite of myself. It was like talking to Kayla when she wanted advice on how to impress some new boy in her class. I generally told her to go for it, and then offer lessons on defense, but that wasn't the case here. Vala_ really_ wanted to prove herself. Maybe Daniel was right.

"Okay, Vala. Tell me what you need."

She squealed in glee. I heard the ruffling of some pages. "Alright, I'm on page 134 of the handbook and they're talking about acrimins—"

"Acronyms, Vala."

"Right. Well, I'd seen these random letters all throughout the base, and Landry and Mitchell continuously use these letters, and after awhile I got lost. So I thought I should learn them."

My eyebrows shot up. "There's a lot of 'em to learn, V."

"I know, but because I'm learning them, a lot of what they say is starting to make sense, but I found one of these…um…"

"Acronyms."

"Right. I found one on the base and I just couldn't seem to find a translation for it in the handbook."

"What is it?"

"J-E-L-L-O."

I blinked. _You're kidding_. I burst out laughing.

"What?" she asked.

"Vala, Jell-O is a dessert."

"It's what?"

"It's a dessert. At least, I think it constitutes as that. You know when you eat in the commissary with Carter and she's always eating that blue jiggly stuff?"

She was quiet again. "_That's _J-E-L-L-O?"

"Vala, quit spelling it out! It's not an acronym; it's just Jell-O."

"Well, what is the stuff?"

I paused. What _was_ Jell-O anyway? "Um, well, it's kinda hard to explain. It's boiling water and sugar and flavouring, and they stick it in the fridge for hours, and…it just becomes the jiggly stuff we call Jell-O."

Another pause.

"So, it's not an…" she struggled, "acronym?"

I smiled. "No."

"It's a dessert?"

"Yes."

"It's water that becomes jiggly stuff in the fridge after a few hours?"

"Well, it _has_ water in it."

"Water doesn't solidify like that, General O'Neill."

Okay, _now_ I was getting annoyed. "It's just a mixture of the flavour and the sugar that makes it solidify."

"But boiling water can't solidify like that!"

"VALA! What does J-E-L-L-O stand for?"

"Jell-O."

"Good. Any other acronyms you need help with?"

"Well, no, but I still don't understand how the water—"

"Vala, go ask Carter. She knows these things."

"Okay, I will. But how do they come out as different colors? I know Colonel Carter always gets blue, and Daniel usually gets red…"

"Vala?"

"Yes?"

"Carter knows everything. I'm ashamed to say I don't. She would know. Go ask her."

"I'm sorry I'm bothering you."

"You're not. I just was reminded of how little I know of something as simple as Jell-O and that Carter would be able to explain the function of a food in a heartbeat. Trust me, Vala, acronyms I can do. The physics of Jell-O, I cannot."

She sighed, thanked me, and I made her promise to call if she needed any more help with military—and I stressed _military_—questions. After we hung up, I looked up to see Laney standing in the doorway.

"Laney, are we trying to be vultures now?"

She rolled her eyes and grinned. "I'm heading down to the mess to grab a doughnut. Anything?"

"Nah. Just coffee?"

"In your dreams, flyboy. Excuse me, _Sir_." She walked off.

I grinned and turned to the four inch thick pile of paperwork that needed to be done.

"Laney?" I bellowed. "Grab me some Jell-O!"


End file.
